


Baisemain (M!DB/Vorstag)

by Nudebeme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nudebeme/pseuds/Nudebeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Chac/Vorstag prompt on Tumblr to have the title "Baisemain". Chac is new to Markarth, and seeking friendship in a new land which scorns him for what he is. Lonely as he may seem, there are some Nords out there who wouldn't think twice to show kindness to an elf who needed it. Chac meets a stranger, but is disheartened by how quickly he is taken from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baisemain (M!DB/Vorstag)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryu_No_Joou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryu_No_Joou/gifts).



Everyone had their own way of dealing with stress. Some turn to drink, some seek out pleasurable company, some burned away time with an exhale of some sedating drug… Some people did all three, people like Chac. Leading the vagabond lifestyle had often brought him stress, but nothing was compared to this. Being the Dragonborn and having your very life stand between that of survival and destruction of an entire province was the greatest source of stress the elf has ever known. 

He needed a way out. Just something small here and there to remind him that life could still be something fun. Markarth is a dangerous city he’d learned, it wasn’t too hard to figure that out the moment he stepped into the gates only to witness (and prevent) a murder before his very eyes. Markarth also happened to be a gods-awfully ugly city, it wasn’t easy on the eyes or the nose, the pungent odor of smelting silver being trapped between the stone walls making the elf eager to get inside a building and away from it. 

When he stepped inside the SilverBlood Inn, he was surprised to see a place much cozier than he’d expected. Tall vaulted ceilings echoed the sounds of tavern banter, the smell of wood fire something comforting for the elf who felt so out of place. He was the only one of his kind here, it seemed every face that looked his way was that of an uninviting Breton or Nord, sizing up his cheap armor only to look back down to their drinks in subdued misery. 

He didn’t have the money for a good meal, and every septim he did own was being saved up for better stock than the crap gear he wore. Stepping up to the bar, he was met with the ill stench of Breton miners, poor men who did little else than drink away the paltry sum they earned. 

He had just enough for a drink, something to fill his stomach until he could hunt something down later. 

“Some hair you’ve got there.” A drunken slur came from behind him, a stranger’s hand combing through the tips of his dreads to feel their texture. He normally never got angry at an admirer, but perhaps it was the smell that drove Chac to back away without even acknowledging the offender. 

“Elves.” was the last thing he heard, Chac instead finding comfort in sitting beside the fire on a free chair, the sound of a lute being strummed just beyond him. He feels awfully alone, but that was a feeling he was well enough used to at this point in his life…he drinks and says little to the commoners that went to and fro around him. 

He didn’t even notice the figure of a tan-skinned warrior move before him, taking up residence on a seat that soon became a perch for the man’s shield. He had to do a doubletake, meeting eyes with the tired-looking man, noticing first the delicate paint across his cheek. Being a mer of such visual pleasures, he used his gift of void-like eyes to watch him all the while the Nord went on clueless.

He didn’t look like a very happy man, that was the first thing Chac could notice. It was a shame to see a nice face look so down, but then again he himself probably didn’t look too inviting either. Minutes went by where Chac couldn’t help himself, he was so lonely and ever since he’d wandered into Skyrim, it’d been open season for him. 

“Is it always this dreary in here?” Chac asks, the man seemingly too lost in his musings and not answering. Chac thought the Nord to simply be ignoring him, but if Vorstag where to tell you, he just didn’t think anyone would give him the time of day. “Hey!”

“Hmm? You where talking to me?” 

“Yeah. You don’t look too happy, I’m guessing it’s not in style around Markarth.” Chac smiles, removing his mismatched steel helmet to let his dreads fall around his shoulders. 

“Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. I wasn’t ignoring you… and yes, Markarth’s not the most joyful of places.” Chac admired the strangers unique voice, how fitting it was of him. 

“Neither was Windhelm, or Winterhold..or Morthal, for that matter. Pretty much every city I’ve been to has been the same.”

“Civil war’s not a pleasant venture…neither is foreign occupation.” Chac noticed all the while that this stranger wouldn’t look him in the eye, and the elf briefly wondered if this Nord was as racist as the many others he’d met so far. 

“ _That’s_  for damn sure. Didn’t mean to bother you, either way.” Chac felt deterred, thinking that his shot at conversation might just be a complete miss. It wasn’t until the Nord leaned over and caught the glimmer of the golden metal of Chac’s dwemer sword did he smile.

“That sword, Is it yours?”

“Mmm. Found it in a ruin just West of here.” 

“Bthardzam? You went down there?” He asks, looking entirely piqued. 

“That I did, found it laying in a pile of rubbish, still sharp. Wasn’t able to find any enchantments on it, though.”

“I-wow, It’s so rare to find one of that make. Could I…you wouldn’t mind if I took a closer look?” The stranger leaned in, shy in the presence of the elf but too intrigued to hide it.

“I take it you have a ‘thing’ for Dwemer metal, eh? It does have a beautiful shine.” Chac gladly closed the distance and offered the muscled man to hold his sword, watching his bare arm bulge as he lifted the blade with a single hand. 

“How could anyone not? See the craftsmanship? To think that one could slay a beast today with a blade crafted by an ancient hand. It’s fascinating.” 

“It is, truly. What more is that their machines still function to this very day.” Chac was going to mention that he was given quite the stick by a Dwarven sphere which was just as painful as it was fascinating. 

“What I wouldn’t give to explore those ruins, all of them. See what sort of wonders lie within the Labyrinthian.” the stranger still had his eyes affixed on the sword, turning it up and down to see how the firelight reflected so brilliantly off it’s blade. 

“What’s stopping you? You look strong enough to make the journey.” Chac hints, peeking down at the man’s exposed muscles tanned by the Reach sun. 

“I haven’t been hired yet by anyone wild enough to travel them, and if I had the gear…” The man seemed to trail off, unknown to Chac there where bigger reasons why the young man couldn’t make the trip. 

“So you’re a sellsword, eh?” Chac smirks, knowing those muscles came from somewhere.

“I’m what I’d like to call a ‘Soldier of Fortune’. Although, right now I’ve been keeping to Markarth.”

“Surely there’s someone out there who can afford your services?”

“I’m heh..not for sale right now, if you want to put it that way.” 

“I see. Can’t be on the road all year, I understand.” 

It wasn’t that, the man thought. He looked downtrodden, lowering the sword until the tip landed on the stone with a tiny clank. He leaned over and offered it back to the curious elf, wishing he could own it himself.

“…” Chac took the sword back, a complete sucker for a pouty face. “I’d give it to you, I see how much you like it. But I..well I can’t find anything better than this one and..”

“Really? You’re too kind to offer. I’d buy it off you but money’s tight.” 

“If I do come across something better trust me, it’s yours.” 

“I insist on buying it.” his acquaintance grins, Chac knowing a prideful Nord when he sees one. The guy was charming, despite his forlorn attitude.. and he was one of the nicest people he’s met in days. 

“Fine then, on a discount.” Chac reached out his hand, offering it to shake “The name is Chac. That’s what I’m going by, anyway.” 

He opened his mouth to speak as he grabbed for the elven stranger’s hand, only to be stifled silent when he leaned the distance and kissed the back of his hand so very gently. It was the most shocking thing he’d felt in weeks, his masculine hand resting in Chac’s moments longer. 

Chac never found out his name. The door of the Inn creaks open, and with paranoid eyes the young Nord turns and looks at who enters, pulling his hand away in a panic. If he was caught like this, there’d be hell to pay…

“Sorry, I have to be leaving.”

“I can’t sell you the sword if I don’t know your name, at least?” Chac asks, looking more confused than ever. The man didn’t answer, his brow furrowed as he glanced back at the elf one final time before making for the door. Chac saw him briefly meet with a large, bald man before they where gone in a flash. 

Chac sat back down, confused to Oblivion. He’d have to come back here some other time, suddenly finding himself a little worried for the nameless friend he’d made. 


End file.
